


it's all moon's fault

by pennypennyinnyc



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 06:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15479328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennypennyinnyc/pseuds/pennypennyinnyc
Summary: Tessa sighs. She’s spent such a big part of her life wishing she could feel so strongly about something else other than skating and winning gold medals, and now that she does, she’s not sure she’s really built for it.“That’s not all,” she says.“What else is troubling you?” asks the older woman.“I don’t think he feels the same way,” she says with a shaky voice, her gaze once again focusing on the snow flurry picking up outside the office window, the bright full moon shining in the dark winter sky reflecting on her misty green eyes.OR"It's all moon's fault, when it gets too close to the earth it makes everyone crazy." - William Shakespeare





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few VirtueMoir vignettes inspired by last night's beautiful red moon.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
It’s the middle of August in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Meryl’s parents are away for the weekend, and having a party in the Victorian, three stories, suburban house just seems like the logical thing to do. The sun is setting, and a full moon is already visible in the pink summer sky, a nice breeze sweeping through the open windows in the living room. There’s a variety of bottles of hard liquor on the table in the kitchen, and a still untapped keg of some craft beer from the brewery one of Charlie’s uncles owns stands next to the potted plants by the main entrance. There’s the Novi Crew, and the Canton Crew, and everybody is 19 or younger, mostly younger.

Scott scans the crowd, opening a beer for himself, the two six-packs he somehow managed to buy from the old lady working at the liquor store 13 miles outside of town sitting next to him, getting warm. He knows that Tessa is most likely hiding in the library, her nose far gone between the pages of one of the many first edition books Meryl’s dad owns, and that Charlie is around somewhere, probably chasing after Tanith or some older girl with perfectly coiffed golden locks and freshly manicured nails — that’s his type.

Meryl mixes drinks like she’s been doing it her whole life, adding cherries, and lime wedges, and fresh mint, and brown sugar almost as if she’s not entertaining a crowd of underage, and overworked type A, figure skaters that would be fine with drinking gasoline if it had any alcohol in it. Scott takes a deep breath, grabs a second can of beer and heads of out of the living room, down the dark hallway, towards the library. As predicted, he finds her there.  
  
She’s sitting on the brown leather couch, legs folded under herself, in the spot closest to the window, a small smile playing her lips as she avidly reads. He involuntarily smiles at the sight.  
  
“Hey,” he says sitting down next to her.  
  
She finally notices his presence.  
  
“Hey! What are you doing here? The party’s not good?” she asks, curious.  
  
“It’s okay. I just thought you might want a beer,” he shrugs.  
  
She smiles, and takes the can out of his hand. She’s the youngest there, the baby of Canton. Parties are not really her thing, but he knows she’s trying hard to fit in.  
  
“Come out,” he says holding out his hand.  
  
She purses her lips and takes a deep breath.  
  
“Okay, just for a bit. You know I’m a lightweight,” she says pointing at the beer.  
  
“I won’t let you get too drunk,” he laughs.  
  
As soon as they get out of the library, they hear a chant of “kiss! kiss! kiss! kiss” coming from the basement.  
  
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss _that_ ,” she chuckles.  
  
They step down the short flight of stairs to the basement, Scott leading the way. It’s a spacious room, neater than any basement he’s ever seen; there’s a big pool table in the middle, and a small bar in the corner. Everybody is sitting in a circle around the antique coffee table in front of the TV; Scott feels all of the other teenagers’ eyes on them as soon as they step into view.  
  
“Scott my booooyyyy!” yells Charlie, holding his beer up.  
  
Scott raises his eyebrows amused, and smirks.  
  
“Truth or dare?” Charlie continues.  
  
“I’m not playing, dude,” he says with a subtle eye roll.  
  
“Oh don’t be _that_ guy,” Charlie insists.  
  
Scott shakes his head, and takes a big gulp of beer, throwing the empty can into one of the recycling trash bins Meryl has aligned by the stairs.  
  
“What? Are you scared?” Charlie asks, a playful glint in his eyes. He knows Scott can’t turn down a challenge, and as predicted, Scott easily takes the bait.  
  
“Dare, White,” he says, holding his gaze.  
  
A chorus of ‘oohs, and woos’ erupts from the rest of the crowd and from Charlie’s eyebrows Scott can tell he’s going to regret letting himself being played so easily.  
  
“You gotta stay locked up in the closet for 15 minutes,” he says between chuckles.  
  
“That’s it?” Scott says with a suspicious look and an annoyed tone.  
  
“With Tessa,” the blond guy adds.  
  
Scott feels his skating partner stiffen next to him.  
  
“Cut the crap, White,” he says. “It’s my dare. Leave T out of it.”  
  
Charlie looks at Tessa with eyes that say ‘are you gonna let your partner down?’ and Scott could swear he can hear the wheels turning in Tessa’s head before she steps closer to him and shoots Charlie a challenging look.  
  
“Bring it, White,” she says, her voice steady.  
  
The closet is small, dark — except for the small lines of light coming from around the door frame, and filled with old board games, photo albums, and home videos, most of them of Meryl and Charlie’s early skating competitions, Scott assumes. Tessa sighs as she sits down and tries to check her watch. A song by the Pussycat Dolls is playing loudly outside, something about wishing someone’s girlfriend was as hot as the main singer is.  
  
“This game is so stupid,” she says.  
  
Scott nods in agreement.  
  
“I mean, what is this even for? Do they expect us to have sex in a closet in 15 minutes? That’s just… ridiculous,” she adds with a sigh.  
  
Scott gulps loudly.  
  
“Yeah, it’s pretty silly,” he says sitting down next to her. “I mean, it’s you. You’re like my little sister…”  
  
He feels her stiffen next to him.  
  
“I hate when you say that,” she says flatly.  
  
“I don’t mean it in a bad way…” he starts.  
  
“I don’t think of you like a brother,” she interrupts him. “I would never do the things we do on the ice with my brothers.”  
  
“Okay,” he says, no better words coming to mind.  
  
“God, do you really think of me as a little sister?” she asks with an outraged tone, unable to drop it.  
  
He hears all the alarm bells going off and ringing loudly in his brain. No, he definitely doesn’t think of her as a little sister; yes, the image of her slowly moving her hips, smiling and looking at him through her long lashes is often what he thinks of while he jerks off as of recent; yes, sometimes he just wishes he could pin her to the boards, and let his horny teenage hands roam all over her body; no, when he pops a boner during practice it’s not just a normal reaction to any female body being pressed so tightly against his, it’s because it’s her. Tessa.  
  
“I… No,” he says, his voice shaky as he swallows.  
  
“Oh,” she says, and he knows she feels the shift in the mood in the small, cramped closet. “That’s good, I guess.”  
  
Her voice is raspier and lower than he’s ever heard it, and he automatically reaches for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. She takes a deep breath and turns to him, her green eyes searching his hazel ones in the dimly lit closet.  
  
“Can I…” she starts, then shakes her head. “Can you…”  
  
Scott interrupts her, his lips crashing on hers, taking them both by surprise. He can feel her breath catching and the realisation of what he’s just done makes him suddenly interrupt the kiss and back away with a quick movement.  
  
“I’m sorry. Fuck. Sorry,” he stutters, putting some more distance between them.  
  
He turns to look at her, and even in the darkness of the closet, he can see the small smile playing her lips as a reaction to his unusual awkwardness. She brings one of her hands up to his face gently rubbing her thumb on the smooth skin.   
  
“Let’s try it again,” she says before closing the gap between them, her lips warm and wet on his. He’s taken aback for a second, but quickly shakes his disbelief away, his hands cupping her face, deepening the kiss, letting his tongue run on her lower lip, and bringing her closer to him until she's straddling his legs. He feels her hands resting painfully high on his thighs, and reaches down to move them to a safer area. She interrupts the kiss, and gives him a curious look.  
  
“Tess,” he whispers, slightly out of breath.  
  
“You don’t want me to?” she asks, freeing her hands from his grip, and placing them on the waistband of his tightening jeans.  
  
“You don’t have to,” he shakes his head, his tone not very convincing.  
  
“I… kinda want to,” she tells him, a note of shyness in her voice.  
  
His hands find her waist, just as hers unbutton his pants. He inhales sharply as her fingers brush against him, and she palms him through his underwear.  
  
She jerks him off, slowly, as he kisses her neck, his head cloudy, lost in the myriad of feelings he’s experiencing all at once. Her hands speed up the pace, and he has to rest his forehead against hers to regain some control.  
  
“Tess,” he pants, his breath hot against her mouth.  
  
“Yeah?” her breathing is as laboured as his and all he want to do is touch her, to make her feel like she's making him feel.  
  
“Can I…”  
  
She nods imperceptibly, and his hand quickly cup one of her breasts through the thin cotton of her tank top; he can feel her heartbeat quickening and her nipples pebbling under his touch. His other hand lifts her short skirt; he moves her lacy underwear to the side, finding her clit, and rubbing it slowly in circles, making her gasp quietly. Her hands still, and he smiles in the midst of their kiss.  
  
“Is this okay?” he asks, breathless.  
  
She nods, her mouth hot on his neck. He runs a finger through her slit, finding her entrance, and slowly pushing inside, just as she resumes stroking him. He’s so close, he feels himself tensing under her touch, so he speeds his movements, adding a second finger, enjoying the moan that elicits. He loves how her hips move down to meet his fingers, and how her strokes seem to match the pace of his own hand.  
  
“Scott,” she breaths out, her eyes closed shut, “please…”  
  
His thumb rubs fast circles against her clit, and he feels her clenching around his fingers, her hand stroking him more erratically, her breaths short and shallow. He’s so close, and he can feel so is Tessa.  
  
“I’m coming,” she pants in his ear, and that’s all it takes to send him over the edge, spilling on her hands, as she spasms around his fingers. They sit there, still, catching their breaths, foreheads touching, eyes closed shut. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since they locked themselves into the closet. It could be 10 minutes or 2 hours; the concept of time is completely foreign to him at the moment, when his fingers are sticky with her, and he can feel her eyelashes light on his cheeks.  
  
“Hey,” he says cupping her cheek gently.  
  
She smiles at him, her green eyes searching for his.  
  
“Let me...” he says a little embarrassed taking her hands and wiping them on his pants, for lack of a better option.  
  
She stands up, straightening her skirt, and readjusting her top, and he follows her lead, buttoning up his pants, and trying to regain a resemblance of coolness.  
  
“This was…” she starts.  
  
“Fun,” he finishes.  
  
“We should probably not do it again,” she says, her hands coming to rest on the back of his neck.  
  
“Yeah, doing it again wouldn’t be a very smart idea,” he agrees.  
  
“Just… one last kiss?” she says before closing the gap, and kissing him sweetly, her lips feather light on his. ( _Spoiler alert: it’s not their last kiss._ )  
  
“Maybe we can pretend this never happened,” she continues.  
  
He gives her a sad smile, and nods, before unlocking the door to their real life.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
He sees him sitting on the porch, a lit cigarette in one hand, and an open beer in the other. He looks stiff, as if he’s posing for an invisible camera, staring somewhere in the distance, his brows close together and a defiant smirk on his face.  
  
“Hey,” Scott says sitting down next to him on the small couch.  
  
“Hey, _Scotty_.”  
  
He hates when people call him Scotty, but he especially hates it when Fedor does it.  
  
“It’s a nice cottage,” he says, ignoring the growing annoyance and trying to make small talk.  
  
“Yeah, Charlie’s parents know how to live, man,” the other man replies, throwing appreciative glances at Tessa and the other girls who are still sitting on the small wooden boat dock with their feet in the water even though it’s close to midnight and the only source of light is the huge full moon reflecting on the flat surface of the lake.  
  
Scott nods, taking a sip of beer.  
  
“Your girlfriend couldn’t come?” Fedor asks, carelessly flicking the ash off the butt of his cigarette on the white wooden boards of the back porch.  
  
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he replies almost defensively.  
  
“It’s not what I’ve heard around the rink,” the older guy says. “Tessa’s looking good,” he continues.  
  
Scott inhales sharply, his jaw clenching.  
  
“Why are you here, Fedor?” he asks. He doesn’t really understand why a 25 year old guy would willingly spend his weekend off surrounded by a bunch of teenagers.  
  
“Tessa invited me, you know.” He turns to face him, a daring look on his face.  
  
“She’s 17,” Scott remarks, even if he knows Fedor is perfectly aware of his partner’s age.  
  
“Could have fooled me,” he says, with a tone that leaves a million implications behind those four words, and makes Scott feel sick to his stomach.  
  
He sees Tessa approaching, wearing a tiny pink bikini top and daisy dukes, her skin red after spending the whole day in the sun. She smiles at them as she reaches the porch, bends down to place a small kiss on the older guy’s cheek, and takes a small sip of his beer.  
  
“The water isn’t too cold. You guys should come for a night swim with us,” she says, her hand casually resting on Fedor’s shoulder.  
  
“Maybe later,” he replies running his hand down her backside, and not so subtly squeezing her ass, making her blush.  
  
Scott’s jaw clenches again as his eyes meet Tessa’s, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the other man.  
  
“Does she know?” Fedor asks as soon as the girls have retreated back into the house to grab drinks and towels.  
  
“What?” Scott scoffs, his tone flat.  
  
“That you want to fuck her.”  
  
Scott’s grip tightens around his half drank bottle of beer.  
  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
The Russian gives him a sarcastic laugh.  
  
“You don’t have to be jealous. I’m just here for the fun parts; she’s just a ‘for now’ girl.”  
  
“What the fuck does that mean?” Scott asks, anger coating his words.  
  
“Girls like her… Nobody will ever be good enough.”  
  
“You surely won’t,” he says matter-of-factly.

"And you will?” Fedor laughs, a smug smirk playing his lips.  
  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scott says for the second time, fists itching to punch the man’s perfectly symmetrical face.  
  
“Right,” the other guy replies defiantly, “maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I’m the one whose bed she’s gonna end up in tonig…”  
  
Scott’s fist collides with the man’s jaw before he’s even had the time to finish his sentence.  
  
The other guy stands up, and for a few slow seconds Scott is afraid he’s going to actually fight him on the back porch of Charlie’s family lake house.  
  
“You’re lucky I don’t go around hitting teenagers, Moir,” Fedor says as he recovers from the punch, hand to his jaw, not even the hit enough to wipe the smirk off his face as he walks back into the house and wraps his arms around Tessa, while Scott watches through the glass doors.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
She loves the warm buzzing that goes through her body whenever she’s had one too many drinks; the feeling of just letting herself go for a little while, of being so unaware of the outside world, but so hyper aware of everything happening in her body, like the quickening of her pulse, her ragged breath as she dances and lets foreign hands grab her low on the waist and lead her through the music, the small drops of sweat in the back of her neck, the involuntary shiver as she’s pressed flush against the tall man in front of her.  
  
Holding his hand feels unfamiliar, but she still follows him to a more private corner of the hotel — maybe a cloakroom, she ponders briefly before his mouth is on hers again, one of his hands threading through her hair, and the other one gripping her hip firmly. She sighs at the warmth that starts spreading through her body and pooling between her legs as his hands palm her ass and press her into him.  
  
“You are amazing,” he moans in between kisses, and hearing him talk is like a sudden cold shower. Her eyes shoot open, the rest of the world suddenly returning into focus, a full moon up in the sky, looking down at her from the small, round window in the tiny room.  
  
It would be so easy to lose herself in the touch of his hands again, in the feeling of his warm, wet lips leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, and just forget about everything else. She wants to; she wishes she could. He’s handsome, and his voice is deep like the ocean, and sweet like honey and really, it would just be so damn easy to press her lips to his again, let her hands wonder down his body, and forget all about everything else; the returning sharp pain in her legs, the fear her career might be over sooner than she planned, the pang in her chest that crushes her whenever she thinks of Scott and how he abandoned her during the worst time in her life, the feelings of rejection every time she looks at the boy she’s known since she was six years old holding his new girlfriend’s hand, kissing lips that are not hers, loving someone who is not her… It would be so easy to just get lost in the moment and forget about what makes everything hurt, but she stops him.  
  
“Andrew, I can’t,” she says, her voice still a little hoarse, her breathing shallow.  
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you…” he starts apologetically.  
  
“No, you didn’t. I thought I could. I’m sorry,” she sighs, her hands resting on his chest.  
  
“Is it because of..”  
  
“No,” she interrupts him shaking her head vehemently. “It’s just… This is not what either of us needs right now.”  
  
“I know,” he sighs. “Everything is so…”  
  
She squeezes his hand in understanding.  
  
“Does it ever get easier?” he asks.  
  
She gives him a puzzled look.  
  
“Being in love with your partner,” he says quietly, as if he’s admitting it out loud for the first time — and maybe he is.  
  
“I’m not…” she starts, but then she just closes her eyes, and lets out a resigned breath. “No. It doesn’t,” she says with an honesty that surprises both of them.  
  
“Maybe we should keep this to ourselves,” he says.  
  
“Yeah,” she agrees.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
He walks into the sterile hospital room, and his stomach drops. She looks so tiny sleeping in the middle of the single bed, surrounded by machines, her legs elevated and wrapped in white bandages. Her hair is spread around her head like a dark halo, and his hands itch begging him to be run through the soft locks. Jordan sleeps softly, slumped on an armchair next to her younger sister’s bed, a thick book open on her lap, her hand still loosely gripping an uncapped highlighter. He clears his throat, trying to wake up the older woman, who just pouts, slightly shifting in the chair.  
  
“Jordan,” he says, gently touching her shoulder.  
  
Her eyes slowly open focusing on him first and then on the surroundings.  
  
“Did she wake up?” she asks, suddenly fully alert.  
  
Scott shakes his head, and hands her a cup of coffee he brought from Tessa’s favourite cafe in town. She grabs the paper cup, and smiles gratefully.  
  
“I can take over. Your mom told me your train leaves in an hour, and that you have an exam tomorrow morning” he says pointing at the clock hanging by the window.  
  
“Oh shit,” she exclaims more loudly than she intended. She unsuccessfully tries to comb her hair with her hands but recognising it’s a lost cause, she then settles for a loose ponytail, and quickly gathers her stuff from around the small room. Purse, jacket, books, sunglasses.  
  
She sighs, giving him a meaningful look.  
  
“I have to leave, but I don’t want her to wake up and be alone,” she tells him with a serious tone.  
  
“I’ll be here,” he reassures her.  
  
She studies him with green eyes that are so familiar to him it hurts, and then nods before giving him a quick hug and heading out. He waits until he can’t hear Jordan’s heeled boots clicking rhythmically down the hallway any longer, then brings the worn out armchair closer to the bed, and takes Tessa’s hand in his.  
  
“I’m here, T. I’m here,” he says, softly caressing her knuckles with his thumb. He feels her stir, incoherently mumbling something. He quickly stands up, and starts running his free hand through her hair.  
  
“Do you need something? Water? Ice chips?” he asks, frantically, not sure of what to do. He presses the call button next to the bed, and after a few short seconds, a nurse appears.  
  
“She’s waking up,” he whispers.  
  
The nurse nods, her eyes flicking from him to Tessa with a flash of recognition.  
  
“Should I do… Does she need anything?” he asks.  
  
“Just let her rest,” the nurse replies with a sympathetic smile. “The doctor will see her tomorrow morning as soon as he comes in and she’s fully awake. For the next few hours she’s probably going to be very drowsy because of the anaesthesia and the painkillers.”  
  
He nods gratefully as the woman leaves the room.  
  
“T? Tess? Can you hear me?” he asks, standing up and flicking the light switch off.  
  
She hums, her eyes still closed, and his hand gently reaches out to cup her cheek.  
  
“Scott?” her voice is thick with sleep, and he doesn’t think she’s fully coherent.  
  
“I’m here, T. I’m here.”  
  
“Hold me,” she cries, and his heart breaks.  
  
He sits on the bed, and carefully lies down in the small space next to her, trying not to move too much. Her hand rests on his chest as he inhales the familiar smell of her hair, his nose pressed in the space between her neck and her collarbone.  
  
“I’m here,” he repeats.  
  
He sees thick tears forming in the corner of her closed eyes.  
  
“Don’t leave me,” she whispers, and his heart breaks in a million pieces.  
  
He thinks about how scared and lonely she must have felt after her first surgery, when he was too busy thinking about himself and his hurt feelings to be there for her.  
  
“Never, T. I’m not going to leave you,” he says reassuringly, and he thinks this is the first time in his 24 years of life that he says something and means it this much, with every single fibre of his being.  
  
Her tears keep falling free on her cheeks, and onto the white pillowcase, her eyes still closed, lids heavy with painkiller-induced drowsiness. He runs his thumbs on the smooth and soft skin of her face, drying the salty liquid, the pain in his chest making it hard for him to breathe.  
  
“I love you,” he whispers in her ear, “I don’t think I will ever stop.”  
  
He feels like the biggest asshole, lying there next to her while she’s half unconscious, telling her what he couldn’t bring himself to say when she was standing right in front of him, awake, her green eyes full of hope, asking him for a future he knew he couldn’t promise her just yet. He feels like an asshole as he rejects his girlfriend’s fifth phone call and turns off his cell phone, throwing it on the armchair next to him.   
  
He shifts slightly, sitting up, his back to the head of the bed, careful not to move her legs that are kept elevated by some complex traction mechanism, so that her head rests on his chest, the beating of his heart lulling her back to sleep.  He kisses her temple, in awe of how perfectly their bodies always seem to fit together, on and off the ice.  
  
“You’re the strongest person I know,” he whispers in her hair. “I think... no — I know, that there’s a version of us, not too far off in the future that knows how to make this work. How to be together, and happy, and still win gold medals and conquer the world.”  
  
“We will figure it out,” he says, looking at the full moon shining bright in the clear night sky, believing every single word.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
“Scott, it’s Thanksgiving,” Alma says on the phone.  
  
“I’m sorry, ma,” he sighs as he empties his dishwasher.  
  
“Danny already can’t make the trip… You all said you were going to be here this year,” she continues, disappointment clear in her voice. “Are you gonna stay in Michigan?”  
  
“I… yeah,” he replies.  
  
Scott rarely lies to his mother. Not just because the thought of not being honest with the person he loves the most in the world has never sat right with him, but also because he knows Alma can read him like an open book.  
  
“Scott Patrick Moir,” he hears his mother voice getting louder through the phone, “did you just lie to me?”  
  
“Mooom,” he whines sounding like a capricious child.  
  
“I’m going to ask you again, and I expect a truthful answer this time,” she scolds him. “Are you gonna stay in Michigan?”  
  
“No,” he concedes, nervously walking back and forth between his kitchen and his living room, finally stopping by the open balcony door.  
  
“Scott,” she says with a reprimanding tone.   
  
“I’m going to the cottage,” he offers. He can picture his mother’s creased eyebrows and tilted head in a confused expression on the other side of the border.  
  
“Whose cottage are you going to?” she asks, her tone suspicious.  
  
Scott sighs, suddenly feeling like a teenager all over again. He ponders if he should just tell her the truth, and then decides to go for full disclosure. Kinda.    
  
“The Virtues’,” he replies, bracing for the third degree he imagines will follow.  
  
“You’re spending Thanksgiving with the Virtues?” Alma asks perplexed.  
  
“I… kind of,” he says, biting his nails and noticing the full moon shining off his parked car’s hood. He knows that’s not exactly a lie. Tessa is one of the Virtues.  
  
“Wait, why are the Virtues spending Thanksgiving up at the cottage?” the older woman asks, persistent like a cop trying to get a criminal to confess.  
  
“Mom,” Scott sighs. There’s a pause; a small moment of silence when he knows everything clicks for his mother.  
  
“You’re spending Thanksgiving with Tessa,” she finally says.  
  
He doesn’t reply; he knows it’s not a question.  
  
“Scott…” Alma starts.  
  
“I don’t need to hear it, ma. We’re not kids anymore,” he interrupts her, closing the balcony door, heading back inside his apartment, and sitting down on his brand new leather couch — Tessa’s pick.  
  
“Does Kate know?” his mother asks.  
  
“No, she doesn’t,” he replies honestly. “And I think Tessa would appreciate if it stayed that way.”  
  
“I’ll keep this to myself, then,” she says.  
  
He hears her sigh on the other side of the line. He knows she’s not gonna ask any more questions; not on this topic, at least. She has come to accept over the years that a lot of topics involving Tessa have always and will always be off-limits.  
  
“You’re just like your father,” she then tells him with a resigned voice. “So much heart he sometimes forgets about being practical.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he apologises. For what exactly this time, he’s not entirely sure.

 

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
Tessa eyes the Christmas three sitting by the door of her therapist’s office.  
  
“I didn’t have the time to take it down, yet,” the woman says, almost apologetically. “You’re one of my first post-holidays appointments.  
  
Tessa shrugs, looking at the snowflakes softly hitting the paned window.  
  
“How did you spend the holidays?” her therapist asks with a smile.  
  
“Home with family, mostly,” she replies.  
  
“Good. It’s important to spend some time with loved ones and just reset and refocus,” she nods. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about today? When you called, it seemed… important.”  
  
Tessa takes a deep breath. Yeah, it’s important alright, and she knows she needs to let it out in the open before her head explodes.  
  
“I’ve been sleeping with Scott,” she blurts out.  
  
The older woman looks at her with a neutral expression, waiting for her to elaborate.  
  
“It’s been about five months, sorry we kept it from you” she says apologetically. “It’s not the first time this happens, but now I’m not… I’m not sure what we’re doing, and I’d be lying if I said it isn’t throwing me off my game. I can’t focus on skating, and I can’t focus on school. I just keep checking my phone waiting for him to tell me when he’ll be coming over; it’s as if I reverted to my teenage self. I can’t talk about it to anyone… God, imagine my mother’s face. Or Jordan’s! This is so irresponsible, I don’t know what I’ve been thinking — what _we_ ’ve been thinking. It’s just too much, but I can’t stop it. And God, this season has been a complete mess. We have this amazing and innovative program with so much potential… People have all these expectations and I feel like I’ve been failing everybody.”  
  
“Have you talked to Scott about this? About how you’re feeling?” the other woman inquires, after she’s done writing something down on her leather covered notebook.  
  
“Of course I didn’t,” Tessa replies, letting out a bitter laugh, and shaking her head. “I can’t.”  
  
She thinks about how casual she acts in front of him, how she never lets on how important this is to her, how much she needs this to be more than just a hookup.  
  
“We’re heading into Olympic season later this year…” she continues, “I can’t be this unfocused, I just can’t.”  
  
“What do you want, Tessa?” her therapist asks, giving her a look that reminds her of the way her grandmother used to look at her when she was a gawky and awkward teenage girl who was trying to navigate all the complicated feelings bubbling inside her; open, no trace of judgement.  
  
“I want… him. I love him,” she says earnestly. She hates feeling so exposed, so vulnerable, but laying all the cards on the table is the whole point of therapy, isn't it?  
  
“And what do you want for your skating?” the other woman asks, her hand quickly scribbling notes upon notes.  
  
“I still want to win,” she replies as if that’s the only thing she’s ever been sure of, “but sometimes it feels like I can’t have both things.”  
  
“Why do you feel that way?”

From the corner of her eye, Tessa doesn’t miss the way her therapist’s nose crinkles as she glances up from her notebook.  
  
“When you’re a professional athlete… you need to constantly be in control of things; of the amount of hours you sleep, of what you eat, of how you manage your time off, of how you react to all the possible things that can go wrong while you’re out on the ice, performing... And when I’m with him, I feel like I’m completely out of control. Nothing feels structured anymore, or safe, or known. Everything is a huge leap into uncharted territory and it’s exciting, and exhilarating, but… it throws me off. I mean, there must be a valid reason why coaches discourage romantic relationships between pairs, right?”  
  
“So you think you can’t handle being with him and being competitive at the level you want to be?”

It sounds like a rhetorical question at this point, and it probably is.   
  
Tessa sighs. She’s spent such a big part of her life wishing she could feel so strongly about something else other than skating and winning gold medals, and now that she does, she’s not sure she’s really built for it.  
  
“That’s not all,” she says.  
  
“What else is troubling you?” asks the older woman.  
  
“I don’t think he feels the same way,” she says with a shaky voice, her gaze once again focusing on the snow flurry picking up outside the office window, the bright full moon shining in the dark winter sky reflecting on her misty green eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

  
  
“So, what’s going between you and Scott?” Meryl asks as she eats a tiny spoonful of the organic mango sherbet she and Tessa just bought at the grocery store.  
  
Tessa rolls her eyes, scooping some of the sherbet from the container and placing it into the small white bowl in front of her. Sherbet is always a welcomed treat, despite the frigid Michigan weather.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Don’t play dumb,” Meryl says giving her a knowing look, her eyes studying the face of the younger girl waiting for her to crack.  
  
This back and forth between her and Meryl is still relatively new, and Tessa is never sure of how open she should be with the competition. Unlike Scott with Charlie, she’s never spent much time alone off the ice with Meryl or any of the other skaters; it’s not that she doesn’t like the small framed girl, she just never thought she’d have much to talk to her about other than skating — and God knows she wants to avoid that topic once she leaves the rink. Since fortuitously discovering their shared obsession with Grey’s Anatomy, though, she has started spending countless hours in the company of her American rival during their off time, much to their skating partners’ dismay, watching every single episode of the medical TV show, pondering who’s really the best catch between McDreamy and McSteamy (McDreamy, hands down) and rooting for Meredith and Derek to finally get their shit together and choose each other. They came to the conclusion that Charlie is totally a George, and Scott is an Alex.  
  
“Nothing’s going on, Meryl,” Tessa says after considering her options, with a tone she hopes sounds convincing enough.  
  
She sits at the far end of her brand new cream coloured L-shaped couch with a sigh, the bowl of cold sherbet resting on the small side table next to her.  
  
“That’s not what Charlie tells me,” the American girl insists with a smirk.  
  
Tessa’s head shoots up, the slightly hopeful look betraying her.  
  
“Scott talks about you a lot, apparently,” she continues.  
  
“Probably complaining,” Tessa downplays it, realising the other girl is quickly catching on.  
  
“About you looking so good it’s getting distracting?”  
  
“There’s no way he’d say that. _He’s an Alex_ ,” she says matter of factly.  
  
“Well, you know I’m not the best at reading guys, but I think it doesn’t take a genius to see that your skating partner totally has the hots for you,” Meryl states with a shrug.  
  
Tessa shakes her head, slightly blushing.  
  
“I mean, it would be as cute as hell, but… it’s a bad idea,” Meryl says, her teasing tone suddenly replaced by a very serious one.  
  
“I know,” Tessa replies with an exasperated sigh.  
  
“Do you?”  
  
Tessa rolls her eyes without replying, and turns the TV on, quickly finding the channel she’s looking for.  
  
“I’m serious,” the other girl continues, concern now coating her voice. “I mean, Marina has given us all her very Russian version of ‘the talk’, and it sounded hilarious at the moment but you’ve got to know she’s speaking from experience. Things can get messy and complicated, and it would be sad to waste all of your talent for a few hook ups. I mean, you’re 18. No boy is worth your time when you're 18. Especially when you’re an 18 year old figure skater; our careers don’t last forever, you know.”  
  
“Meryl, Scott and I are just like you and Charlie. Platonic. Sibling-like. Business partners.”  
  
It’s now Meryl’s turn to roll her eyes.  
  
“Charlie and I share the ice with you every day, and honestly sometimes you’re so wrapped up in whatever platonic bullshit you’ve convinced yourself you’re doing for the sake of performance, that  watching you feels like an intrusion” she says, eyes burning holes on Tessa’s profile. “You want each other, and you need to stop that.”  
  
“Why do you even care?” Tessa asks, finally turning to face the other girl. “If we implode, you’ll just have less competition to worry about.”  
  
Meryl shrugs her thin shoulders and gives the other girl a sad look.  
  
“I guess… I mean, are we just competitors?”  
  
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore,” Tessa says, her voice low, gaze returning to the TV.  
  
“It’s starting,” Meryl says standing up to close the blinds, annoyed at the full moon reflecting on the flat screen, as a summary of the previous episode plays.

 

* * *

 

  
Jessica is nothing like Tessa. She doesn’t care if her nail polish is chipped, or if after they go to the movie theatre he throws the empty cup of his soda on the floor of the backseat of her car, or if her skate guards are not placed on the boards at a very specific angle.  
  
He looks at her from the bed in her small Montreal apartment. She is sitting at the small desk by the window typing an email, her lips pursed, eyes focused on the bright screen of her laptop. She's pretty. Pretty and uncomplicated, and really, that’s all he needs right now. All that he can handle.  
  
“You almost done over there?” he asks, patting the empty spot on the bed.  
  
She raises her index finger in response, her eyes traveling from the left to the right side of the screen, scanning what she wrote one last time before sending it. She eventually shrugs her shoulders, and closes her laptop, a smile playing her lips as her eyes meet Scott’s.  
  
“What do you want to do?” she asks playfully, climbing back up on the full size bed.  
  
He smirks as she lies down next to him, a teasing smile on her face. She cups him through his shorts, quickly unbuttoning them and discarding them on the floor. She peels his boxer briefs off, her breath hot, her mouth hovering over him. He closes his eyes and gulps. Her hand grips him firmly, stroking him one, two times before letting her mouth take over. Her lips close around him, warm and wet. He tries to enjoy the feeling and let himself appreciate the beautiful girl crouching between his legs, trying to pleasure him with her mouth, but as soon as he closes his eyes, all he can see is Tessa.  
  
He sees her her deep green eyes glazed with desire as she looks up at him, his cock in her mouth, his hands in her hair. He sees her bobbing her head, taking him as far as he can go as one of her hands’ short fingernails dig angry red marks on his thigh while the other gently cups his balls making him shiver under her touch. He pictures her tongue, swirling around the head of his cock, licking the clear drops of precum as she moans in delight, her breath almost as laboured as his. He imagines her small yet strong hand stroking his length as she gently sucks on his tip, and the feel of her smile on him as she sees how powerless and out of control he is as she lets his cock hit the back of her throat and then backs up slowly, letting him out of her mouth with a resounding pop.  
  
“Does it feel good?”  
  
His eyes shoot open at the thick french accent, and he’s faced with eyes that are not green, and that’s like a freezing cold shower. He feels like the biggest asshole.  
  
His look must be confusing, because his girlfriend lets go of his slowly softening cock as if it burned her, tilting her head, asking for an explanation.  
  
“Sorry, I’m not… I think I’m getting sick or something,” he says, sitting up on the bed, his jaw clenching.  
  
“Are you serious?”  
  
He doesn’t miss the hint of anger and suspicion in her voice, and he feels the guilt rising with every passing second.  
  
“It must be the sushi we ate earlier,” he lies, getting out of bed, and quickly getting dressed.  
  
“Do you want me to make you a tea or something?”  
  
“It’s okay,” he says shaking his head. “I think I’m just gonna drive back.”  
  
“You’re gonna drive back now?” she asks, giving him a look that lets him know she’s not buying his sudden sickness not even for a second. “It’s a 6 hours drive and it’s 7PM.”  
  
He just shrugs. He knows everything he says is just going to make things worse.  
  
“I’ll see you next weekend,” he says quickly kissing the top of her head, and grabbing his overnight bag from the corner of her bedroom.  
  
She doesn’t reply, nor tries to stop him.  
  
He walks two blocks east, where he parked, and realises he doesn’t really have a place to go. He sighs, unlocking his car, reclining the front seat as far down as it can go, and staring at the full moon, shining in the sky through the sunroof, a pale, round, smirking face that stares back at him in a mixture of mocking and judgement.  
  
He thinks of Jessica lying on her bed just a few blocks down the street, and about Tessa, recovering from her surgery miles and miles away, and he feels like he’s failing both of them. Yes; Jessica’s nothing like Tessa, and sometimes he thinks that’s the thing he likes the most about her.

 

* * *

 

He pins her to the wall of his living room, his hands on her ass, trying to press her body as close to his as possible. He grunts, as she bites his earlobe and her hands pull at his hair.  
  
“Bedroom,” she whispers before leaving a trail of hot kisses on his neck.  
  
He obediently scoops her up, and carries her up the short flight of stairs to his bedroom, as she bucks her hips against him and moans in his ear. It’s a wonder to her how much she always wants him; it actually scares her how her whole body feels on fire under his touch. She’s never felt as vulnerable and powerless as she does when she’s with him.  
  
He gently settles her on his bed, his mouth on hers and his hands eagerly working to remove her shirt and her sports bra in one go, a task he surprisingly completes rather quickly. He sucks on her sensitive nipples, grazing them gently with his teeth eliciting a moan from her. He chuckles at how responsive she is; it’s one of the things that never cease to amaze him. He loves getting to know her body so intimately.  
  
“Scott,” she moans as his hand dips under the waistband of her leggings, her voice thick with desire.  
  
“You’re so wet, Tess,” he pants on her collarbone as he rubs her through the thin fabric of her underwear.  
  
She wants to tell him she’s always wet for him; always ready, always eager. She feels like a horny teenager who can’t control her body. Just the mere thought of his hands on her make her leak and shiver with anticipation.  
  
“What do you want?” he asks, as he peels her leggings and panties off her legs.  
  
What does she want… She’s always been so goal oriented and single minded in the pursuit of what she wants on the ice and for her career, but when it comes to Scott, she just doesn’t know how to voice any of her desires. She wants him to eat her out until she forgets her name, she wants him to fuck her as if that’s the last thing he’ll ever do, she wants to win gold medals, and stand on top of podiums around the world with him, she wants lazy Sundays at home with him making breakfast in her kitchen, she wants slow and sensual morning sex after nights spent tangled in each other arms, she wants to travel to exotic places, and big cities, and small country villages with him, she wants to sing her heart out to sappy oldies as they drive off into the sunset, she wants big family BBQs in his backyard, she wants forever. But above all, she wants to be ready for everything she envisions in her future — _their_ future, and she knows she’s nowhere near to be the person she needs to be to want all of these things, but she can’t help wanting them anyways. She looks at him, and she sees her desire reflected in his darkened eyes.  
  
She doesn’t reply to his question; not with words anyways. She pulls him down until he’s lying on his back, and slowly takes his clothes off, her hands everywhere on his body. She takes him in her mouth, licking his length at first, and then enveloping the tip with her lips, and is rewarded by a loud grunt that makes her ache deliciously between her legs. She loves the feeling of Scott in her mouth; she’s never particularly enjoyed blowing any of the guy’s she’s been with, but with Scott it somehow feels different.  
  
“I want to taste you,” he says, his hands pulling at her hair gently, but with enough force to make her gasp.  
  
She gives him one last lick, and her breath hitches in her throat as he rolls on top of her, and nips at the sensitive skin behind her ear, slowly trailing open mouthed kisses down her body. He stops at her belly button, sucking on the silver ball of her piercing, and then blowing a puff of cold air on it, chuckling at the way she shivers as a reaction. He settles between her legs, mouth hoovering over her opening. He breathes her in, and she suddenly feels so exposed.  
  
He kisses her in the apex of her thighs, and her hips buck impatiently. He kindly obliges, spreading her wide with his hands, and parting her folds with a slow lick of his tongue. She moans, and her eyes close shut. His lips close in on her swollen clit, as his tongue draws slow circles around it.  
  
“Scott,” she moans loudly, and he can tell by the needy inflection in her voice that she’s on the edge of release.  
  
He keeps sucking on her clit, two of his fingers easily finding her opening and pumping in and out of her with a steady rhythm. He bends his digits slightly, looking for the spongy spot inside of her that he knows will make her come undone.  
  
She cries out his name, as she comes around his fingers, walls clenching, thighs gripping his head. He laps at her juices, moaning at the tangy and sweet taste that he finds so completely addictive. He waits until she’s come down from her climax, her eyes finally opening and meeting his, to kiss her. Slowly and languidly. He brings his soaked fingers up to her mouth, and she sucks them clean, her eyes never leaving his.  
  
He’s so hard, and he’s never wanted anything as badly as he wants to be buried inside her, fucking her with all he’s got, like his life depends on it.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asks cupping her cheek and kissing her lightly all over her face.  
  
“Yeah,” she replies, still breathless pulling him on top of her, hands reaching for him between their bodies, her eyes not leaving his as he buries himself inside her with one slow stroke.  
  
Sex with Tessa is mind-blowing. Sex with Tessa is addictive. Sex with Tessa feels like too much and not enough all at the same time. Sex with Tessa feels like more than he ever bargained for. Sex with Tessa feels a lot like making love.  
  
He looks at her as she comes back from the restroom after cleaning up, still naked, her hair falling softly down her back, a big smile playing her lips, and a a faint blush colouring her cheeks, and his chest aches with want, and he wonders if he will ever stop feeling like this when it comes to her. He sighs as she gets back under the covers and moulds her body to his, her head tucked under his arm, legs intertwined with his, her fingers softly tracing circles on his chest.  
  
“Cassandra is gonna come see us at worlds. Is Ryan gonna be there?” he asks, his tone even and measured, as if he’s not just mentioned his significant other no longer than 10 minutes after he’s come inside her.  
  
Her head shoots up, and she suddenly looks at him as if he’s grown a second head.  
  
“What?” he asks shrugging his shoulders.  
  
She sits up, and he feels the unbearable aching at the loss of contact and warmth. Her hands clutch around his sheets, pulling them tighter against her naked body.  
  
“Cassandra is coming to see us at worlds,” she repeats, and he just furrows his eyebrows in confusion at her reaction.  
  
“I mean, yeah. Things are not great, but she’s my girlfriend…” he explains as if that’s just a given, as if he hasn’t been fucking her, his skating partner, for the past 7 months, as if his sheets don’t smell like her, like sex with her.  
  
She looks at him, and then she can’t keep it in anymore. She laughs. It’s a bitter, resentful, cathartic laugh that she knows is very uncharacteristic coming from her, and she can see he’s completely taken aback by her reaction.  
  
“I can’t believe this. God, I’m so fucking stupid,” she says, her laughter slowly dying.  
  
She untangles herself from his sheets and stands up, looking for her clothes, discarded on his bedroom floor. She doesn’t even bother trying to find her underwear, just throwing her sweatshirt and her leggings back on, eager to cover herself, in an attempt to erase what they’ve just done.  
  
“I am so fucking stupid,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I thought…” she continues, her breaths short and sharp, her hands frantically combing through her hair trying to look half collected at least on the outside. “I can’t believe this.”  
  
Scott just sits on his bed, watching her, not sure of what he’s supposed to say, if anything at all.  
  
“Oh God,” she says, her tone now serious and panicked, the awfulness of what they’ve been doing hitting her suddenly, like a ton of bricks. She feels like throwing up, like screaming, like saying fuck it all and go back to a life where skating and Scott aren’t the be all and end all.  
  
“Tessa,” he says tentatively.  
  
She shoots him a look, that is full of anger. Anger directed at him, but mostly at herself.  
  
“What the fuck have we been doing exactly?” she says her gaze finally meeting his, her hands on her chest, in a futile attempt to slow down her thumping heart and ease the painful sensation spreading from her throat down to her stomach, as if she just downed a frozen drink too quickly.  
  
“I don’t understand why you’re this upset,” he says, finally finding his voice. “We knew going into this that I was with Cass. And I mean, you’ve been with Ryan for a while. It’s not like we’re in love or…”  
  
“This, whatever it was, is over,” she says interrupting him. She doesn’t want to hear his excuses, and his reasons for not being able to love her fully. She doesn’t want him to know that she hasn’t as much as heard from Ryan for the past 7 moths. She doesn’t want him to know just how wrong she had been in allowing herself to believe that maybe, just maybe… No. She looks for her car keys in her bag trying to control her breathing, trying to calm herself down. She sees him standing up and reaching for a pair of boxers and a t-shirt from the corner of her eye. She sees him walking towards her, and feels his hands gently squeezing her upper arms.  
  
“Tess, please talk to me,” he says.  
  
She shakes her head again, and inhales deeply.  
  
There are so many things she wishes she could bring herself to tell him, and she knows that half of them would make her sound as pathetic and desperate as one of the characters of these TV shows she used to watch in her living room with Meryl.  
  
“It’s fine. We’re fine,” she tells him with the most convincing tone she can master at the moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
As soon as she’s out of his small suburban Midwestern house, she feels like screaming. She drives to the convenience store three blocks away from her apartment building in autopilot, her eyes on the road, her mind miles away. She buys a pack of cigarettes, and lights one, standing outside of her car, just as it starts raining. She curses under her breath, feeling like a bad cliche, and looks up at the clouds eerily covering the full moon that looks further away than usual. It’s then that she finally allows herself to feel hurt. She only has the time to take another long drag before her cigarette is soaked, and by the time she manages to unlock her car door and get inside, she doesn’t know if it’s drops of rain or tears running down her cheeks.

 

* * *

 

  
Kate finds him shovelling snow off her driveway wearing a full team Canada outfit, nothing but a full moon and its bright white light, to keep him company.  
  
“Tessa’s not here,” she tells him getting out of her car.                                                                 
  
“I know,” he sighs.  
  
“I thought you were going to stay in Michigan, too.”  
  
He keeps shovelling snow, his eyes almost refusing to meet hers.  
  
“Come inside. I’ll make you a hot chocolate,” she says taking the shovel out of his hands.  
  
He nods, resigned, and follows her inside.  
  
He sits by the counter island, taking off his jacket and placing it on the stool next to him.  
  
“Marshmallows?” the older woman asks him from the opposite end of the kitchen.  
  
“I’m training…”  
  
“I won’t tell,” she says, placing a cup of what he assumes is French, decadent cocoa powder, and scalding hot full cream milk, in front of him.  
  
He takes a sip, enjoying the subtle sweetness of the drink even though sweets are not really his thing.  
  
“So… not that I don’t appreciate you clearing my driveway, but Scott, why are you here?”  
  
He shrugs. Honestly he doesn’t know why instead of going to his own parents’ house he drove to Tessa’s.  
  
“Does your mom know you’re here? We thought you guys were going to spend Christmas together in Michigan.”  
  
“No. I drove up on a whim, and then I didn’t quite know where to go…” he says with a shrug.  
  
He doesn’t tell her than he thought staying in Canton was the plan too, until Tessa had informed him that Ryan was going to fly down from Ottawa, and she was going to spend Christmas with him instead.  
  
“I worry about you and Tessa,” the blonde woman says. “You were like an experiment. So young… You have grown around each other like vines, and sometimes I’m so scared you’ll struggle more than you should to get a normal life once this is all over, because of this bond that nobody else but you two can quite understand.”  
  
She sighs, taking a sip of her hot chocolate, and looking at him with a sad smile.  
  
“It scares me how even after so many years Tessa still needs you this much, how often she turns around to seek some kind of approval from you, or how she automatically still reaches for your hand.”  
  
Scott takes a deep breath, the thought of parting with competitive skating suddenly scaring him more than it ever has before.  
  
“We’re not like those weird single skaters who grew up isolated and socially awkward,” he says with a shrug, not wanting her to know how much the thought of retiring really terrifies him. “Tessa will be fine.”  
  
“Well, if these are your last Olympics, I hope you know that we’re really proud of you kids no matter what,” Kate says with a genuine smile. “Gold, silver, bronze… Those are nice tokens, nice memories that will eventually end up somewhere in someone’s basement, but the persons you are, the choices you make… those things are what stays with you forever.”  
  
Scott looks at her, not sure of what to say or how to feel. He hasn’t felt like a good person in a while.  
  
“Everybody’s bound to make bad decisions, hurt people, but that’s how we learn. We learn a lesson, and the next time, we do better,” she says, as if she’s reading his mind.  
  
“I don’t know how to feel about this all coming to an end,” he finally admits, and he feels like a small child again, telling his parents that he’s afraid to sleep alone in his room because Charlie told him there’s a monster under his bed.  
  
“It will be an adjustment, but you’ll figure it out. You both will,” Kate says with a reassuring pat on his shoulder. “And you know you’ll always have each other. No matter what.”

 

* * *

  
  
“You look good; happy,” Marie France says as she sits down next to her on the small couch by the window, placing her small ceramic cup filled with scalding hot espresso on the table in front of them.  
  
Tessa smiles, taking in the appearance of the older woman who she has always considered some sort of mentor.  
  
“It’s a work in progress,” she nods. “How are you guys?”  
  
“We’re good,” she says with a fond look. “Between coaching and parenting we are pretty busy. But it’s all I ever dreamed of. Better even.”  
  
“I’m really happy to hear that.”  
  
“How’s school going?” inquires Marie France, curious to know how her friend is adjusting to a life without skating competitively.  
  
Tessa sighs, her gaze quickly dropping to the floor, and then to the people walking by the cafe.  
  
“It’s different than what you expected, isn’t it?” the older woman asks, understanding her pause.  
  
“Yeah,” Tessa admits. “It’s just… it’s a work in progress,” she repeats.  
  
“Where is Scott? I thought you were flying in together?”  
  
Tessa tries to avoid Marie France’s inquisitive gaze once again, but then just shakes her head in some sort of resignation.  
  
“No… I’m not even sure when he’s flying in. Or where he’s staying. But don’t worry, he’ll be at the rink tomorrow morning.”  
  
She shifts uncomfortably on the couch under Marie France scrutinising yet not judgemental gaze, taking a sip of her cappuccino. Scott hasn’t been the most reliable person in the past year, and even though she knows he might not be in the best place mentally at the moment, she also knows he would never just bail on her, or on Patch and Marie France.  
  
“It’s hard, sometimes,” the older woman says with a knowing look. “When I was younger I often thought that skating competitively was what was keeping me from living a fully rounded life, and building meaningful relationships, but the more I looked at it with objective eyes, the more I understood that skating wasn’t an obstacle that stood between what I had and what I thought I wanted. It was an excuse I used to control those vast and scary parts of life that I couldn’t quite understand. All bubbles are bound to burst sooner or later.”  
  
Tessa looks at her, her head full of thoughts, questions, and what ifs. She wishes she had answers, she wishes she could see what her future holds, and know if all these suffocating feelings of emptiness and purposeless that she’s been carrying like a deadweight on her shoulders since her last competitive performance will ever fade.  
  
“Wanna take a walk back to your hotel?” Marie France asks her, finishing the last sip of her espresso.  
  
Tessa nods, standing up and grabbing her purse and light jacket from the chair in front of her, and handing Marie France hers. They walk through the busy streets of Montreal, making small talk and exchanging funny anecdotes about their families. As they reach the hotel, Marie France lightly touches Tessa’s arm and gives it a small squeeze.  
  
“He will come around,” she says with a reassuring smile, reaching out to hug the younger woman.  
  
Tessa nods with a small shrug, giving Marie France one last small wave as she gets into one of the taxis parked in front of the hotel’s entrance. She’s a bit startled as the white car stops right in front of her, and Marie France cracks her window open from the backseat.  
  
“Don’t miss the lunar eclipse tonight,” she tells her. “A full, blood moon. Magical things might happen.”  
  
She gives her a knowing smile and one last wave before rolling the window back up.

 

* * *

  
  
He sees her sitting on the small bench in the middle of the hotel rose garden sipping on a flute of champagne, her pinky up, a full moon shining in the distance. She looks like the protagonist of one of those black and white films she loves.  
  
“Hey you,” he says trying to surprise her, kissing her neck, his arms encircling her from behind and his hands playfully landing on her breasts.  
  
“What the fuck?”  
  
Scott freezes at the voice. It’s familiar. But it’s not Tessa’s.  
  
“Scott please remove your hands from my breasts,” Jordan says with a voice that is unusually levelled given the situation. Her eyes are shut and her fists are closed in what probably is a very straining exercise of will power not to punch him.  
  
Scott quickly detaches himself from the brunette, a very noticeable blush creeping from his neck up to his ears. He takes a few steps back just in case.  
  
“Have you been drinking? Are you… drunk?” Jordan asks him trying to master a neutral tone, so neutral it almost borders to chilling.  
  
How very lawyer-like of her, he thinks.  
  
“I… No, of course not.”  
  
She takes two steps to get closer to him, trying to smell his breath.  
  
“I swear, I only had a glass of wine during the reception!” he says defensively.  
  
“So what? You decided being an Olympian isn't exciting enough for you, and you’re trying to get yourself thrown in jail for forcible touching?”  
  
“I.. No! Jordan, no. Jesus.”  
  
“Then tell me, Scott. What the fuck are you…” she stops mid sentence, realisation finally downing on her.  
  
“Oh my god. You thought I was Tessa!”  
  
Scott tries to avoid her inquiring gaze.  
  
“Holy… What the hell are you guys doing?! I thought you wanted no distractions. The Olympics are in less than 8 months!”  
  
“No _outside_ distractions,” he corrects her, not sure how specifying that could improve the predicament he got himself in.  
  
“Oh well, that’s surely a more dignified way to say ‘fuckfriends’,” she tells him with a very eloquent eye roll.  
  
Scott looks around panicked, hoping nobody’s heard the brunette.  
  
“Jesus, Jordan!”  
  
“You just groped me and you have the audacity of looking scandalised over me using the word fuckfriends?”  
  
“Please stop saying fuckfriends,” he pleads, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose to keep himself from cringing.  
  
“I’m not going to stop unless you tell me what the hell you two _fuckfriends_ are doing!”  
  
“We are not fuckfriends," he says, whispering the last word. "It’s not like that — _this time_.”  
  
She raises an eyebrow, still unsatisfied with his explanation.  
  
“So what? Are you _dating_?” she pushes.  
  
“I… We are not defining it yet. We’re just…” he shrugs his shoulders, “we’re taking it day by day, I guess, you know?”  
  
“No, _Scotty_. I do not know,” she persists just like the good lawyer that she is. “God… I swear, you two are such a shitshow.”

Scott cringes at the nickname.  
  
“We’re together. Kinda. We’re exclusive; not seeing anybody else,” he then says. “I… I love her,” he finally admits, holding the older woman’s gaze.  
  
She finally gives him a small, knowing smile, seemingly satisfied with what he’s just told her, and he knows then, that she’ll keep their secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that’s more smut than I anticipated... Sorry?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter during a 10 hour flight, between one glass of chardonnay and a vodka soda. I haven't had the time to edit it properly yet, so I profusely apologise for all the mistakes you'll probably have to read through.

 

* * *

  
  
He feels her eyes on him as soon as Tessa leaves him alone on the ice with a subtle hand squeeze and a small peck on his cheek. He skates in circles, wondering what on earth could be the catalyst of his coach’s anger towards him this time. The World Championship is coming up in a little over a month, and their program is strong and polished; his partnership with Tessa is as solid as it’s ever been, and even his usually cocky attitude has been kept in check as of late.  
  
From the corner of his eye, he sees Marina skating towards him, joining him at centre ice, and then following him, matching her pace to his as he moves closer to the boards to trace fast perimeters around the rink. They both look ahead, and he senses the woman is just waiting for him to be ready to listen to whatever she has to say. After a few long minutes of skating in silence, he gives up, coming to a sharp halt. He notices the flickering neon lights reflecting on the smooth, watery ice; it’s barely 5PM, but the sky is already dark outside of the arena. He can hear a thunderstorm approaching, and the sound of the rain, falling angry against the tempered glass of the large windows.  
  
“You are sleeping with her,” the red haired woman says after a few beats, in a way that leaves no doubt to him that she _knows_.  
  
“Pardon me?” he asks anyways, feigning ignorance.  
  
“You and Tessa. You are having sex together.”  
  
Scott’s gaze drops to his black skates, unable to maintain eye contact with his coach any longer.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, tempted to skate away to the opposite side of the rink, or possibly to the other side of the country.  
  
“Scott,” she says, her fingers coming to rest on his wrist in an attempt to make him stop fisting his hands until his short nails leave half moon shaped prints on his palm, and to keep him right there where he is, standing awkwardly.  
  
“You forget what I tell you when you start skating here.”  
  
He scoffs. He wants to tell her that maybe she should be having this conversation with her son, but he restrains himself.  
  
“Marina…”  
  
She tightens the hold on his wrist, and for a brief second, he feels like she might be doing that out of affection, almost as to soothe him. He still has a hard time meeting her eyes, choosing to focus on the small bright dot he can spot between the clouds from the top windows of the arena instead.  
  
“You must stop it,” the Russian woman then says with an usually kind tone. “You fool around, your skating suffers,” she adds, and to him her words sound almost like a mantra, something that he's supposed to repeat to himself over and over again before going to sleep. Or get tattooed on his forehead. Either or.  
  
He shakes his head vehemently. He wishes she could understand that between him and Tessa it will never be just _fooling around_.  
  
“You think that you’re in control and that you can keep it off the ice. You think that you will prove me wrong because you two are _special_ ,” she continues, “but it’s always the same. After the fun, you get tired of each other, and you want different things, and someone gets hurt and then the skating suffers.”  
  
He tries to shrug it off, but every single one of her words stab him like a knife, because a small part of him is afraid she might be right after all.  
  
He clenches his jaw so tightly it hurts.  
  
“I know what happens. I don’t say things to be mean Russian coach you must fear. You are… how you say? Idealist. Romantic. You can’t see things clearly like I do.”  
  
“I don’t see how…”  
  
“Tessa is a very beautiful young woman,” she interrupts him. “Very intelligent.”  
  
He nods. Nothing the woman is saying about Tessa comes as news to him.  
  
“Gold for her comes before relationship. Before everything.”  
  
“You don’t know Tessa like I do,” he says, his tone defensive.  
  
Marina shakes her head.  
  
“I was Tessa,” she replies, then skates away, leaving him to ponder what she’s just told him.

 

* * *

  
  
She looks at all the people surrounding them, supporting them proudly. A sea of white and red cheering them on as if they’re royalty, waving banners where her own smiling face is printed in bright colours and stares back at her, as she sits awkwardly in the small carriage, feeling like a fraud, her gold medal heavy around her neck. She and Scott are being held like hometown heroes by their communities, and all she wants to do is disappear. She forces a smile past her lips as Scott’s hand comes to rest gently on her back for a picture.  
  
Everything is a blur; everything feels somehow surreal, like she’s having an out of body experience. Hugs, congratulatory handshakes, speeches, interviews with local media… It’s only once darkness has started to descend on the cloudless Western Ontario sky that she finds herself in a room surrounded only by familiar faces, and can finally take a few seconds to compose herself, to breathe again.  
  
She feels a warm hand squeeze her shoulder gently, and once she turns around, she sees familiar hazel eyes searching hers.  
  
“Hey,” he says softly. “Everything okay?”  
  
She gives him a shy smile and nods. She’s always had a soft spot for Danny Moir.  
  
“It’s a bit overwhelming out there,” he says pointing at the remaining cheering crowd still visible through the windows of the arena.    
  
“That’s an understatement,” she chuckles.  
  
“Enjoy it! You guys deserve it.”  
  
He hugs her in a way that makes her heart ache, and a knot form in her throat. He might think she deserves this, but she doesn’t feel like she does.  
  
“How are your legs?” he then asks, unable to hide his concern.  
  
“They’re fine. I’m fine,” she lies, something she’s become so good at in the past two years.  
  
“We’re all really proud of you, you know?”  
  
She sighs, her gaze dropping to the floor.  
  
He shakes his head affectionately at her reaction.  
  
“Smile, big hands, you did it!” he says, trying to cheer her up; trying to understand why she seems so incapable of just enjoying the moment and soak it in. “You got your dream.”  
  
“We did,” she tells him with a sad smile. “But at what price?”  
  
He gives her a puzzled look, and she briefly wonders how much Scott has shared with his older brothers. She wonders how much Danny knows about the things they had to give up on, and conceal, and bury in boxes left in the back of locked up closets. Does he know how many people they hurt and let down in the name of gold? Does he know how many pieces of themselves they have given up for the shiny piece of metal reflecting the pale light of the full moon shining through the ceiling-to-floor windows, resting heavy in the middle of her chest?  
  
“You got your dream,” he repeats. “Not everybody gets to have that.”  
  
She sighs in acceptance, trying to fool herself into thinking that maybe that’s enough.

 

* * *

 

   
  
She wakes up with a start, studying the dark surroundings before grabbing her phone from the white, glossy bed side table. 4:17 AM. She looks around in confusion, wondering if she woke up so suddenly because of a nightmare she can’t quite remember having.  
  
Then she hears it; a loud knock on her wooden front door. She looks at her phone again, checking if she’s missed any calls. She hasn’t. Groggily leaving the warmth of her king size bed, she steps down the stairs to the ground floor of her house.  
  
She hears another knock, fainter than the previous one, and once she reaches the front door of her newly renovated house at the end of the tree-lined street, she looks through the small peeping hole, and sees him there, standing on her front porch, his image slightly distorted by the fish eye lens.  
  
With a sigh, she opens the door.  
  
“Hey,” she says, moving to the side, silently inviting him in.  
  
He quietly accepts her invitation and steps into her house.  
  
“Scott,” she sighs once again, closing the front door behind her. “It’s 4 in the morning.”  
  
He just stands there in her foyer, arms resting on the sides of his body.  
  
“Scott,” she repeats, this time her tone a little less soft.  
  
He smells like beer, and scotch and cigarette smoke, and a part of her wishes she were strong enough to just kick him out.  
  
“How did you get here?” she asks with a worried tone. “Did you drive?”  
  
He looks at her for the first time since she opened her front door to him.  
  
“I took a taxi.”  
  
She exhales, relieved, and reaches for his hand to lead him through her house.  
  
“Let me make you a tea.”  
  
He follows her in silence, and she can feel his gaze burning holes on the back of her head as she walks a few steps ahead of him, the bright light of the full moon making it easy for her to find her way without running into any furniture. She leads him to her pristine living room, turning on some of the downlights before heading to the kitchen.  
  
She returns a few minutes later to find him sprawled on her couch, his gaze fixed on the only photo of the two of them she has on display in her house.  
  
“Here,” she says, placing a cup of hot chamomile tea in front of him, and then sitting down on the opposite side of the couch, folding her legs under herself.  
  
A deafening silence falls between them. She feels him shift on the couch, until his head settles on her side, his breath warm on her hip. Her arm automatically comes to rest on his chest. His hand squeezes her forearm, and she can almost hear all of the unsaid things behind the simple, affectionate touch. _Ask me to stay. Tell me you need me. Don’t let me go_. He runs his fingertips up and down her arm, studying it closely, and tracing distracted patterns on it.  
  
“I love your freckles,” he finally says, his voice coated with a sadness that tugs at her heartstrings, in a way that makes her reconsider everything she’s done and said in the past few months since they’ve got back home from Russia.  
  
“They’re like tiny constellations,” he continues. “Galaxies…”  
  
She runs a hand through his hair, giving him a sad smile.  
  
“You told me that once,” she says. “When we were just two dumb kids. Do you remember?”  
  
She can feel he’s not really listening to her, and she wonders if he’s sober enough to even remember this conversation come morning. They stay like that, lost in a moment, in the middle of the night, on her grey couch, until his breathing becomes more regular, and his grip on her arm softens as he slowly succumbs to sleep.  
  
She takes in his sleeping form, admiring his sharp jawline, and his straight nose. His hair tickles the uncovered part of her waist where he’s resting his head. His smell is intoxicating, and somehow always feels like home, even when mixed with the sharpness of alcohol and smoke. She doesn’t know where he’s been, or who he’s been with. Heck, she doesn’t even know where he’s living these days. Not too long ago she would have said she knew everything about the man currently resting half on top of her, but again, not too long ago she also would have said she knew who she was and what she wanted. Now she feels like she doesn’t. Not anymore. Every certainty she’s ever had, lays abandoned in the middle of an ice rink somewhere in Russia.  
  
She tries to think about the things she once was sure she loved. Skating, school, fashion, Scott… and she realises she now feels lukewarm about all of them but one.  
  
She looks at him snoring softly next to her, and for the first time in the 16 years she’s known him, she feels like she’s lost him, even if he’s right there, next to her, his head resting heavy on her side. She’s lost him, and she realises she’s lost herself too.

 

* * *

 

  
  
He looks at the usually collected and cheerful woman standing in front of him. The friendly expression he’s gotten so used to see is nowhere to be found, an angry scowl now taking its place.  
  
“You said you were 100% in. You said…”  
  
“Nothing has changed,” he interrupts her.  
  
She rolls her eyes at him and sits down on the couch he just brought over to his temporary unfurnished rental home in London from his storage room where all of his Canton furniture has resided for the past year and a half — the couch was Tessa’s pick, and he still refers to it as his ‘Carmen couch.’  
  
“You’re talking about going back to competitive skating. Not just as a hypothetical… you’re talking like you’ve been thinking about it for months, and discussing it with Tessa, and leaving me out of that conversation.”  
  
“You knew the comeback was always a possibility. It was never off the table, I never lied about it,” he says defensively.  
  
“After Sochi you said that you were done, that you wanted a change, that you wanted to settle down. I mean, God! We talked about moving in together,” she scoffs. “I’ve started contacting teams here in Ontario…”  
  
“Kaitlyn,” he sighs. “I thought you understood.”  
  
“You said you were done,” she repeats.  
  
“I thought we were, I thought I was ready to move on from… skating. But I need to do this. We need another chance.”  
  
The blonde woman laughs.  
  
“You and Tessa need another chance? Another chance at what, exactly?”  
  
“A chance at gold…” he replies, trying to avoid her gaze. “We have to take it. You’ve got to understand that. I owe it to Tessa.”  
  
“You owe it to Tessa? God, Scott, do you even hear yourself talk?”  
  
He tries to grab her hand, but she takes a step back.  
  
“You said you guys were over. I believed you.”  
  
“We were. We _are_! This is not about that. It’s about gold. I want another chance at gold.”  
  
“God, I feel so stupid,” she shakes her head, her hands covering her face.  
  
He swallows at her words, a painful flashback of Tessa telling him the exact same thing playing in his head. He wonders how many people have felt like this because of his selfish ways.  
  
“Kait, nothing has to change.”  
  
“You don’t get it, Scott… Everything’s already changed,” she tells him with a sad smile.  
  
“Kaitlyn…”  
  
“Remember when we started this? When I told you I would never ask you to choose between me and Tessa?”  
  
He nods.  
  
“You made that choice without me having to ask.”

 

* * *

  
  
“Tessa.”  
  
She hears the familiar voice calling her from a few meters back, and a part of her — the petty one, wants to pretend she hasn’t heard the other woman call her name, and just keep walking, but the better side of her ends up winning that argument.  
  
She turns around with a smile on her face — _her press conference smile_ , the one that doesn't quite reach her eyes, almost forgetting the other woman has known her for half of her life.  
  
“Marina,” she regards her, returning the quick hug her former coach offers her.  
  
“You recover well on the ice today,” she says, studying her. “After Scott’s fall.”  
  
Tessa blinks a few times, trying to maintain her composure.  
  
“We’re happy with our performance,” Tessa nods, her tone flat, almost as if she’s reciting words from a script, and maybe she is.  
  
The red haired woman smirks, her eyebrows hiding under her thick fringe.  
  
“You are not.”  
  
Tessa can’t help the subtle eyeroll that the other woman’s last statement elicits.  
  
“You still haven’t learned how to let things go,” her former coach says in a way that irks her to no end, and makes her regret not ignoring her in the first place.  
  
“Do you see me holding a grudge?” she asks, her tone challenging, but still polite enough to make the question pass as playful.  
  
Marina purses her lips.  
  
“You won gold today. It’s all that ever mattered to you, no?”  
  
Tessa takes a deep breath to calm herself down, not wanting to start a scene that will inevitably end up on some random figure skating gossip blog.  
  
“It could have been silver, bronze or nothing at all. It wouldn't have changed anything,” she says coldly.  
  
Marina considers the words of the younger woman, and then gives her a knowing look, that makes Tessa feel very uneasy. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed, and how many medals she’s won; a small part of her will always feel the weight of that power dynamic that was established when she was just an awkward and gawky teenage girl, and getting Marina’s approval meant everything to her.  
  
“You are a very strong team,” the red haired woman says, in a tone that makes Tessa feel so transparent, like an open book sitting on a table for the other woman to read through. “Stronger than you’ve ever been, maybe.”  
  
Tessa can’t contain a small, bitter laugh.  
  
“Sochi almost destroyed him, you know,” she says holding Marina’s gaze, who just shakes her head in return.  
  
“You had everything. So much energy, so much potential, so much natural talent…”  
  
“Yet none of that was enough, was it?”  
  
“You, Tessa, you were ready to sell your soul for that gold medal. You were ready to sell what you meant to each other.”  
  
“That makes absolutely no sense,” Tessa says with a bitterness that she can see surprises her former coach.  
  
“He loves skating, but you… You love the chase.”  
  
The other woman’s words stir something inside her, because she knows that on some level she is right. But there’s something new in how she sees herself now, in how she sees Scott, and their partnership; something she knew was always there but she never quite dared to acknowledge.  
  
She thinks about the 24 year old she used to be, the one who agreed to be a part of dumb reality shows, and bridal magazine spreads, she thinks of the 18 year old who thought she had to conceal the pain in her legs and her blooming feelings for her skating partner like dirty little secrets, the 20 year old who stood on top of an Olympic podium and felt nothing but resentment and inadequacy, and the 23 year old who was too afraid to admit that what she felt for the boy she spent most of her life holding hands with was not just unadulterated lust, but real, unconditional, earth shattering love. All in the name of gold.

“That’s not what I love about all of this,” she says, briefly glancing at Scott walking towards them with a puzzled expression from the other side of the rink. “Not anymore, at least. And even back then, it wasn’t, even if I didn’t really understand that yet. You always had me figured out wrong.”  
  
“Hey,” Scott says as he approaches them, placing a hand on the small of her back and giving her a soft smile. “Everything okay?”  
  
She gives him a small nod, and it's only after she does, and he’s sure she means it, that he moves towards his former coach to give her a half-hearted hug.  
  
Tessa looks at the older woman, who she can tell is now studying the interaction between her and Scott very intently.  
  
“We gotta hurry. Marie France made reservations for the whole team at that Scandinavian restaurant you really wanted to try, and then I got us that private tour of the observatory so maybe we can catch the northern lights, and even if not, there's a full moon, and...”

“Got it,” she interrupts him with a smile. “I'll hurry.”

His hand trails up her back and comes to rest on the spot between her shoulder and her neck, giving it a small squeeze.  
  
“It was good seeing you, Marina,” he then says, starting to walk away.  
  
Marina waits until he’s a few steps away, then takes Tessa’s hand in hers, with a knowing smile, and an unfamiliar warmth in her eyes that somehow unsettles the younger woman’s resolve not to give her one single inch.  
  
“I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought I did,” she whispers, her head tilting towards Scott. “You were always worth more than a gold medal to him, but I was never sure about what you felt.”  
  
For the first time in four years, Tessa feels herself start forgiving the woman standing in front of her.  
  
“He was always worth more than a gold medal to me, too. More than anything.” she says, giving the other woman the first genuine smile after a long time, before following Scott to the backstage area.

 

* * *

  
  
“Fancy seeing you back in this neck of the wood, Moir,” the blond guy says with an amused smirk. “How long has it been since you drove down to Canton? Three? Four years?”  
  
“Yeah… About that long, I’d say,” Scott says with a shrug. “I was around here… Thought I’d shoot you a text, for old times’ sake.”  
  
“You were around here?”  
  
“Kinda. Just… visiting,” he says with another shrug, happy when his childhood friend doesn’t push it.  
  
“So, what’s new? How’s the family?”  
  
“Everybody’s good. Enjoying the summer. How’s the Whites?” Scott asks, as he flags down the waitress to order a pitcher of beer.  
  
“We’re great. Being a dad… It’s the most amazing adventure,” he says with a smile that almost splits his face in two. “It’s just… amazing. He’s like a mini me, big hair and all.”  
  
Scott observes the other man as he talks so fondly about his son’s first steps, his first mispronounced words, his little crush on their neighbours’ 4-year-old daughter, and his current obsession with ducks. It sounds so mundane yet so perfect. It sounds like something he can’t wait to have, too.  
  
“I’m really happy for you and Tanith, Charlie,” he says returning the other man’s smile, and shaking his head almost in disbelief. “I still can’t believe you guys are married. With a child.”  
  
“It’s crazy, isn’t it? It feels just like yesterday you and I were breaking stink bombs in Fedor’s hockey bag, while the girls did each other’s make up before going out.”  
  
Scott chuckles at the memories.  
  
“We had a good thing going; you and Tessa and Meryl and me,” Charlie continues, as Scott places a glass of beer in front of him, and then proceeds to pour another for himself. “It was a healthy rivalry. We pushed each other to be better and it was exhilarating. We competed on the ice, and it was about skating, but off the ice we had each other’s back. We were friends; we were each other’s keepers.”  
  
Scott thinks about those days, when he didn’t quite know who he was just yet. He thinks about how his life was so weirdly intertwined not only with Tessa’s, but also with Meryl's and Charlie’s. There was a time he could tell when Charlie was sad, or pissed off, or worried, or frustrated with his partner by what he ate or drank for breakfast, or when Meryl was nervous by how long it took her to lace up her skates.

He thinks about those stupid house parties in Meryl’s living room, about the car rides to the Whites’ lake house during long weekends, and about all the time they spent around each other, keeping each other’s secrets, sharing the same childhood dream.  
  
“I hated how all of a sudden it wasn’t just about skating anymore,” Charlie sighs, taking a big sip of beer. “It became about politics, about things that were happening off the ice… We were friends. I considered you guys my friends, and then overnight it was over. It became tainted. I was hiding a relationship that was everything to me, and you were agreeing to that stupid TV show thing, and Marina and Igor... We all fucked up good things.”  
   
“I think we all did the best we could do given the circumstances,” Scott says diplomatically.  
  
“You're starting to sound just like Tessa,” Charlie chuckles.    
  
“But yeah, we had some pretty damn good times,” Scott admits. “Some days, I wouldn’t change for the world.”  
  
Charlie laughs at him affectionately.  
  
“You are such a sap. What happened to cocky Scott Moir?”  
  
“He grew up, I guess,” Scott replies with a shrug, taking a big gulp of his beer.  
  
He looks at Charlie as he nods at his words, a knowing smile on his face. His friendship with his American rival has always been so simple, so straightforward. No bullshit. Just two guys looking for normalcy in a world where normalcy was often hard to find.  
  
His thoughts are interrupted by his phone vibrating from the spot where he placed it on the table, the picture of Tessa flashing on the screen.  
  
“I… I have to take this,” he tells the other man apologetically, as he accept the call.  
  
“Hey,” he says, trying to avoid Charlie’s teasing look. “Are you done with dinner?”  
  
He sees Charlie typing a quick text on his phone, probably to Tanith, trying not to be too obvious in his eavesdropping.  
  
“I’m in Canton,” he tells Tessa with a hint of amusement in his voice. “No, I’m not kidding. I’m at Black Rock.”  
  
He sees Charlie laughing from the corner of his eyes. Black Rock has been their go to bar since they got fake IDs.  
  
“I am not gonna get you the mac&cheese, Tess. I thought you just had dinner,” he says looking at his watch. “You know it’s not as good when you have to reheat it.”  
  
“Yeah, we can drive back here tomorrow before we head back. I promise.”  
  
He takes a sip of beer as he listens to Tessa fondly remembering the perfect texture and creaminess of the pasta dish she loved so much, but didn’t get to indulge in enough, and letting him know how much her family had missed him and his goofy ways during dinner.    
  
“Tell all of your extended family members I say hi back, and that I’ll be there tomorrow for breakfast.”  
  
He looks at Charlie nervously, and then he just goes for it.  
  
“I love you,” he tells Tessa through the phone focusing on the way the full moon reflects on his almost empty glass of beer, just to avoid his friend’s inquiring gaze from across the table. “See you soon.”  
  
He then hangs up, unable to hide his smile.  
  
“So…” the other man says with a teasing tone.  
  
Scott shrugs, drinking the last sip of his beer.  
  
“I wonder if the betting pool we had back at Arctic Edge is still running,” Charlie says, enjoying the half annoyed look on his friend’s face. “Actually, that would not be very fruitful for me. I’d end up losing quite a lot of money.”  
  
“I’m gonna go, now, cause we’re not having this conversation.”  
  
“C’mon, Moir, don’t be that guy!”  
   
Scott rolls his eyes playfully, places at 20$ bill on the sticky table, and eventually gives his former rival a warm smile.  
  
“It was nice catching up, White,” he says. The other man’s laugh follows him as he walks towards the entrance of the bar.  
  
“Hey!” Charlie yells after him. “Tell Tessa I miss playing scrabble against her. She’s still the best opponent I’ve ever had.”  
  
Scott smiles, remembering how frustrated both the blonde guy and his partner got when playing the word game against each other.  
  
“Don’t be a stranger. Maybe you’ll get your chance to finally beat her.”  
  
( _And he will, at the Virtue - Moir housewarming party, 6 years down the road, while Scott and Tanith teach their respective children how to skate in the small frozen pond in their backyard._ )

 

* * *

  
  
He finds her dancing to one of the many oldies in her playlist in her unusually messy kitchen, a checkered apron on top of her workout clothes, tomato sauce in her hair, flour on her nose, staring at what seems to be a very uncooked pizza resting on the countertop. He looks at him apologetically as their eyes meet and he raises an eyebrow half amused, taking in the scene.  
  
“You said you wanted pizza, and when I read the recipe online it sounded pretty easy, so I decided to give it a go, but there’s something wrong with the dough and…”  
  
“You tried to make pizza?” he asks, interrupting her.  
  
“I wanted to surprise you,” she says, with a tone that makes it clear to him she’s very disappointed with herself.  
  
He looks at her, as she fidgets with the hem of her apron and bites her lower lip, her green eyes wide and apologetic. And that’s when he knows; he knows he’s the luckiest bastard to ever walk this earth, because this is all he’s ever really wanted. He thinks that all the sweat and the tears, the pain, the racing for gold, and sometimes settling for silver… it was all for this very moment. This slice of a perfectly imperfect life; something that would look utterly domestic, and mundane to anyone looking from the outside, but that to him is glorious and top-of-the-podium worthy.  
  
He clutches the velvety box safely sitting in the pocket of his jacket, and walks towards her, enveloping her in his arms, eliciting her soft and melodious giggles, a sound he’s loved for over two decades.  
  
He kisses her like it’s the first time, with the same wonder and excitement he felt when his lips first met hers all those years ago. He takes her hand and leads her to the balcony, pointing at the moon shining pale and bright in the dark September sky.  
  
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, his arms around her, his head resting on her shoulder.  
  
“It looks a little bit like my pizza,” she says, poking at his usual sappiness.  
  
He laughs, kissing her temple.  
  
“I'll clean the kitchen, and you call the pizza place?”  
  
She nods gratefully, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs.  


* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind comments! I'm so glad someone is actually reading these drabbles of mine, and enjoying them.


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